


Food Is a Love Language

by sunflowerbi



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I love her, but then, most of it is just about v's journey with food, the end is a cute little fluffy bit with both of them, v has a complicated history with food okay, villanelle cooking fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerbi/pseuds/sunflowerbi
Summary: It wasn’t until much later that Villanelle learned to love food. When she got paid by the twelve for the first time, she went to the most expensive restaurant she could find and ordered the most expensive meal. She went to the cheapest place too, ordered food for a dollar and ate it. Food was a luxury she refused to deny herself, now.(for a request about how v learned to cook)
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	Food Is a Love Language

**Author's Note:**

> I love V so much and I enjoyed exploring her a bit in this

Villanelle had a sorted history with food. As a young child it was only a resource, something she needed to survive and never had enough of. She still remembered digging through the kitchen when her mother wasn’t home, desperately looking for anything she might not notice disappearing. It was something to be guarded, occasionally stolen, never shared. She hated food, hated her reliance on it, the way it controlled her. She’d spent plenty of nights unable to sleep for the gnawing pain in her stomach. She couldn’t do much with food then, at most she’d been able to heat things that needed it and pour salt on it to cover the taste. She never cooked anything, not really. She had fleeting memories of watching her father cook, but they were blurred, made her feel a mixture of sadness and comfort she mostly avoided. Between her mother and the orphanage, she spent most of her time trying to ignore her way she dizzied when she stood, her body demanding food she couldn’t provide.

In prison she worried less about where her food came from, sure, but she hated it just as much. Food kept her alive, and it always tasted like shit. She wasn’t fighting for enough food to live, but still would have rather not bothered with it at all. She was eventually assigned to the kitchen, which was better than scrubbing toilets, but peeling potatoes did very little to improve her opinion of food. It was a dirty kitchen where they made shitty food, and nothing ever changed. She peeled potatoes, then she cooked meat, then she mashed potatoes. She wasn’t allowed to cut anything, something about violent tendencies.

It wasn’t until much later that Villanelle learned to love food. When she got paid by the twelve for the first time, she went to the most expensive restaurant she could find and ordered the most expensive meal. She went to the cheapest place too, ordered food for a dollar and ate it. Food was a luxury she refused to deny herself, now. If she saw food she wanted, she’d buy it. More importantly, she taught herself to cook. She decided she wouldn’t rely on anyone else to provide food for her, she would fill her own stomach. She slept with a few chefs, dug through their things while they were asleep. She copied recipes, stole fancy tools they left lying around, found out what spices they used, ordered them from around the world.

She found independence in cooking, being able to make something solid for herself. She would spend free days picking out the most complicated recipes and perfecting them, hours just figuring out the perfect balance of spices. It staved off the overwhelming boredom she so often found herself drowning in, gave her something to focus on. Cooking created a moment where nothing else was happening in her own universe, she moved around the kitchen with frenzied grace, entirely wrapped in her movements.

The first time she cooked for someone else, she cooked for Konstantin, made him one of his favorite meals. He told her it was fine, but she didn’t miss the way he smiled as he ate, didn’t even try to reject her offer to send some home with him. (She saw him eat it in his car.) She cooked for him occasionally, after making him admit that her food was wonderful. She demanded places to stay with kitchens she could at least cook in a little everywhere she went, something to busy her mind while she waited for her next assignment.

The first time she cooked for Eve broke her open. Spaghetti, a nod to dreams from times past. As she dropped fresh pasta into the pot, she felt tears begin to form. She was overwhelmed by the sudden softness of it all, something she knew she didn’t deserve but was far too selfish to ever give away. Here was Eve, eagerly awaiting food _she_ was cooking. Cooking was, in the end, a way to give yourself to someone, and she had never wanted so desperately to give someone all of herself.

“Villanelle? What’s wrong?” Eve was suddenly wrapped around her, dropping her chin onto Villanelle’s shoulder.

“Nothing. I do not think I deserve you, darling Eve, but I get to give you this spaghetti, and I want to give you everything. I want to give you all of me and all of the world. You deserve it.” It was a quiet confession, Eve was surprised she could even hear it, but she relished in it just the same.

“Maybe you don’t deserve me, maybe I don’t deserve you. I’m not sure I give a damn what we deserve, honestly. I love you, sweetheart, more than I ever thought I could love a person. So, if you don’t deserve me, that’s a problem for the universe. I want you, and hell if I’m going to let anything change that.”

Villanelle turned, pressing a gentle kiss against Eve’s lips. “You are my everything. Now find some plates, you’re going to make me overcook the pasta.” This time, a smack on the ass as Eve walked away.

“That was the best spaghetti I’ve ever eaten, babe.” Eve smiled, leaning back in her chair.

“It’s because I am the best, obviously.” Villanelle stood up, reaching her hand out for Eve to take. “Let’s dance, then, my love.”

“I can’t believe you tried to convince me you didn’t like to dance.”

“I had never danced with you; I did not realize how wonderful it could be.”

“Thank you for cooking tonight, I loved watching you make your way around the kitchen. You looked like you’d been cooking in there forever.”

“I hope I will be.”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to comment, they fuel meeeeeeeee  
> Tumblr: [sunflowerbi](https://sunflowerbi.tumblr.com/)


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